The Ship at the Edge of Yesterday
by Moon Disc
Summary: Forty-five years after the events of Gauda Prime, a broken ship on the edge of the Sixth Sector calls to a weary traveller. Is his journey over or is it yet to begin?


**The Ship at the Edge of Yesterday**

There was talk in the tavern of the remains of a great ship, somewhere out on the edge of Sector Six. Fragmented, torn, corroded. Destroyed, they said, but who knew why. There had been talk of salvage, but only for the brave. It had drifted to a minor spiral arm of the Lethe constellation, where it remained, buffeted by radiation emitted by a nearby nebula and at the mercy an unstable temporal anomaly. Much longer, and it would be pulverised to dust.

At the bar, the old man listened, his arthritic hands curled around his glass. He was invisible these days, in so much as everyone ignored him. They held conversations, argued, plotted, all within earshot. He listened, absorbed the information, said nothing. He had heard it all before, schemes more grandiose than these, and had seen a thousand men go to their deaths.

But there was something about the two men with their talk of a great ship that caught his attention.

"The scans say the outer skin is herculanium, Gus," said one of the men, a fair-haired, thin-faced fellow with a sharp nose and hooded eyes. "You know how much we can get for that? We'd be rich beyond our wildest dreams."

Gus, the fleshier of the two owing to his fondness for food, the remains of which had splattered his shirt, wedged the last of his meal into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"I dare say, Jago, but how long would we live to enjoy it?"

"Precautions! We take precautions. Radiation suits, we teleport in, strip it and straight out."

Teleport. Once the preserve of a few, now added to the most basic vessels as standard. Manufacturers of short-range shuttles had complained bitterly to the Federation about the loss of business, but it had fallen on deaf ears. After all, the Federation had been responsible for popularising its use in the first place. They had stolen the idea of course. Something about pillaging it from the wreck of a Wanderer class planet hopper, where a previous owner had had the intelligence to make the necessary modifications.

That had been over forty years ago. Now everyone teleported. Long distances, short distances, from home to work and back again. A convenience everyone took for granted, it was hard to imagine a time when people had been forced to do something as tiresome as walking from one place to another.

"Come on, Gus, what do you say? It's easy money."

Gus treated his companion to a view of the rolling contents of his mouth. "If it was easy, Jago, someone else would have done it by now. What's the catch?"

The old man could have told them. Wrecks which littered the sector from three major engagements of the Intergalactic War had long been an attraction to pirates and salvagers, intent on picking whatever flesh remained on the bones of the drifting debris. They had had to work fast; once the wreckage had drifted into the arms of Lethe, only the brave followed it. Fewer were those who returned, with tales of hallucinations, visions of time future and past, and sudden surges in levels of ionising radiation so high that crews were incinerated in minutes.

But this was something new, something tempting. Herculanium, the strongest metal in the universe someone had once called. The Federation's need for it was insatiable. Bigger, better ships, always required to maintain and extend their reach through the galaxy. If these two were right, it would be worth a fortune.

Jago was enthusiastic. Gus, however, was taking some persuading.

"Can I help?"

The two men stared at him, registering his presence for the first time and instantly dismissing him. An old man and a sad one, they decided, guilty of having lived too long in a world he no longer understood and one that forgotten him.

"What's it to you, old timer?" Jago demanded.

"I've done my fair share of salvage in my time," the old man offered. "The name's Varis Tella."

Jago surveyed him critically. "Well, Varis, what makes you think you can cope with the conditions out there?"

Varis shrugged, his grey head bobbing slightly. "I've seen worse."

Jago and Gus exchanged a glance, and grinned. It was tempting. Easy pickings and no danger to them.

"Let's say we're interested," said Jago. "What would you be wanting for your services?"

Varis knew he could have quoted any figure. They would have agreed, anything rather than take the risk for themselves. Much good would their promises be after the work was done; they would kill him without a second thought. That was fine by him. He was not intending on coming back in any case.

"Enough for a drink, lads," he said instead. Avarice would not sit well with his bedraggled appearance. "I don't ask for much these days. But I could do with the work."

"And no one else will take you on," said Gus. He took in the liver-spotted hands with their slight tremble, the wrinkled folds around the eyes and the stooped back. "Okay, Jago, you've got a deal. We go after the herculanium. And you, Varis, will get it for us."

xxxxxxx

During the three hundred hours travelling time, they hardly spoke one word to him, leaving him alone with his memories. Ignorant of his purpose, they talked only of their plans, how they would be so rich that no one could touch them. To hear them, anyone would think they were the only ones in the history of the galaxy ever to concoct such plans. Not even original, Varis thought. Others had been there first, with plans better than anything these pale imitators could invent.

Only when they saw the sparkling arms of Lethe reaching out did they approach, give him his orders, provide him with helmet and suit. The monitor showed him his destination, 50,000 spacials distant – what had once been a room, with what was left of the walls, bulging, distorted by corrosion and blackened, mantling the skeleton of a large teleport console and seating. This was the closest they could get, they told him. The teleport would do the rest. Go there, they said, find out if the herculanium readings had been accurate, report back, and, if viable, start the salvage operation.

Varis nodded, saying nothing. He knew what he would find. There was enough herculanium on what was left of the outer skin of even this small section to allow a man to live in comfort for the rest of his life. Well, he would see about that.

The teleport activated, and the scene changed. Beyond this ruined structure, millions of stars pricked the black of velvet space, culminating in the Acheron cluster with its winding rivers of light and interstellar clouds painted in hues of pink and purple by the lambent glow of a nearby planetary nebula. Reluctant travellers paid a small fortune to have such images in their homes; only the lucky few got to see them with their own eyes. There were worse places to die, Varis thought. A Federation prison, for example.

He tried not to think about those days any more. Soma and alcohol dulled the memories and eased the nightmares where age would not. Strange, he had always thought, that yesterday was instantly forgettable but the aftermath of Gauda Prime was as fresh as ever. When it returned, it came back to him with all the force of the actual day, the pain and panic, fear and misery and the certainty that he would never see the others never again.

It had taken time, but he had escaped, the others too. All but one. Imagining what they had done to him, why he had never managed to secure his own freedom, well, that thought hurt the most. It had been cowardice, he had told himself, that had stopped him searching for him, when in truth it had been that he had been impossible to find.

As for the others, he had not sought them out. They had been scattered, and safety back then had seemed not to be together, but alone. He had been alone ever since, running and hiding. Forty years and more was enough, he had decided. Yes, this was a good place to die.

They would be waiting back on the ship for his signal. He let them know that the wreck was rich in herculanium. Then he delved in his bag and took out the detonators. Ten he had brought with him, purchased with the last of the credits he had won at Freedom City. An exorbitant sum, but well worth it to blast the last of the _Liberator_ into nothing, to prevent men like Jago and Gus from ripping out its guts.

The name would mean nothing to them of course. The Federation had been ruthless in its quest to expunge all trace from the record. At one time, the mere mention of Blake's name had warranted summary execution. Those who remembered had been eliminated. The rest had been drugged into submission. Only on the fringes did resistance hold out, never strong enough to be anything more than an irritation.

Well, if they wanted to forget, then it would have to all or nothing. With the final destruction of the _Liberator_, the process would be complete.

He set the timers for fifteen minutes, and then with a weary groan, took a seat on the broken spar of the seating and waited.

"What are you doing here?"

He started, startled by the sudden voice, unexpected in this time and yet exactly where it should have been. As his vision moved to the figure on the steps, the walls rebuilt themselves, the cushion swelled beneath him and the console came alive. And there he was, hands behind his back, the black tunic with the grey of the shirt visible at his neck. That same imperious look and critical gaze, enough to stop him in his tracks every time.

"Avon."

The name escaped him. He rose to his feet, deceived for a moment, then remembering the tales about this place, the slips in time, where a man could glimpse the past.

"Apparently so," said the figure. "Although the look on your face makes me wonder." He sauntered down the steps and came within reach. "I ask again, what are you doing here, Vila?"

It had been so long since anyone had used his real name that for a moment he did not recognise it. He had been forced to shed it and assume any number of identities over the years. Varis Tella had been a conceit on his part, and a risk. Not that anyone would have credited the old Vila Restal with anything as elaborate as an anagram of his own name.

"You... you know me?" he stammered. "Even as I am?"

The vision made a noise at the back of its throat. "I may have forgotten a few details over the years, Vila, but I think I can be trusted with your appearance. Have you taken a look at yourself recently?"

His gaze drifted down to the fingers that were no longer bent and gnarled, and the skin, smooth and unmarked, the illusion of youth restored. From there, to the long jacket, with its beige body, buckles and multi-coloured panels. And then, reaching out, expecting to find only air, instead finding Avon's arm, warm and solid beneath the grey sleeve.

"How is this possible?" he uttered.

Avon moved away, rounding the console to inspect the current readings. "I haven't decided," he said abstractedly. "I thought at first this was yet another drug-induced hallucination. Lately, I have been less convinced. Nothing the Federation ever devised was this tangible, and they became less inventive towards the end. The other possibility is that this is nothing more than a product of my own dying mind. Why I should choose this place, at this time, does not explain it, however, given that there are infinitely better places to be if one has to endure an afterlife."

"You are dead then?" Vila said.

"I believe so. It's what happens when the Federation loses interest in you."

"They never had any in me. They stuck me in a penal colony and forgot all about me."

"There are worse fates." Vila thought he caught a touch of reproof in Avon's voice. His next words were sombre. "The others? Tarrant, Dayna, Soolin?"

"Free, as far as I know. Living their lives somewhere and keeping out of trouble. Good luck to them, I say."

"Which is what you've been doing, from the look of you." With a sigh, Avon sat down and considered his companion with a thoughtful gaze. "And yet here you are again, after all these years. That is interesting. Blake said you would return eventually. We have been waiting for you for some time, Vila."

"We? You mean the others...?"

Avon nodded. "This appears to be a shared experience."

"Do they know? Does Blake remember what happened?"

"We never speak of it. In any case, I am certain he does not remember. None of them do. This place," he said, gesturing to his surroundings and the wider beyond, "has a way of erasing the memory. Speaking for myself, there are some things that are a little less clear than once they were. That is to be expected. In the case of the others, the process appears to be complete. But then they have been here longer than I have."

Vila swallowed hard. He had to know. "How long have you been here?"

Avon glanced up. "How many years since Gauda Prime?"

"Forty-five."

"That long?" The initial shock quickly passed. "Well, then I have been here eleven years. It doesn't seem like it." The silence lingered. "You still haven't told me what you are doing here, Vila."

"There's a ship out there, Avon, salvagers. They want to strip what remains of the _Liberator_. I am going to destroy it before they can."

Avon stared hard at him. "Sentiment will be the death of you, Vila. What makes you think anyone cares?"

"I care."

"I see. So, having set the charges, you are now heading back. Where is your shuttle, by the way? The long-range detectors picked up your ship, but nothing since."

"Teleport," Vila said. "Everyone uses it these days."

"Disappointing," said Avon. "Although that might have been my fault."

"You told them how it worked?"

Avon smiled, a rueful gesture which did not reach his eyes. "Not intentionally. What little remained of _Scorpio's_ teleport was not sufficient to construct a working model. I was _encouraged_ to fill in the gaps, amongst other things."

"I'm sorry," said Vila quietly.

"For what?"

"For not coming to find you."

Avon dismissed the idea with a shrug. "You would not have been successful. I was moved around a good deal. Nor was I expecting it. They told me you and the others were dead. Another lie."

"You never managed to escape?"

"Eventually," Avon replied enigmatically, "in a manner of speaking."

"And now?"

"Now I am trapped in an earlier incarnation of myself on the _Liberator_, aware of a future which should be yet to happen, but which _has_ happened."

"You know, I could be imagining you," Vila offered. "They say there's a temporal anomaly out here. People have had hallucinations."

A soft laugh escaped him. "Well now, you did mention once that your vision of hell was filled with Avons. One, on this occasion, will have to suffice. Or perhaps some trace of Zen remains, still trying to defend the _Liberator_. Either would seem to account for your position, Vila, but not mine. It does not answer my awareness since my arrival here nor our current problem in attempting to free ourselves from the vicinity of the nebula." He paused. "A temporal anomaly, you say? That would explain why a matter of a few hundred hours have passed for us, but for you many years. In that case, shouldn't you be going?"

Vila shook his head. "I'm not going back."

Avon sat back from the teleport console and regarded him curiously. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm old, Avon. I'm tired of running. And..." Vila took a moment to frame his thoughts. "I'm not well." His hand drifted unconsciously to his temple. "They say there's nothing they can do. Well, you know how I feel about pain, and then I heard about the _Liberator_, and I thought if I had to go, then this was a good place to be." He hesitated, unsure of the expression that had come to Avon's face. "I can disarm the explosives, if you like."

"No," he replied suddenly, as his thoughts came back to the present. "The blast may be enough to dislodge us from the anomaly's influence."

"Won't it destroy this place?"

"It will destroy what is left of the _Liberator_ in your time, and set us free here and now. Two time lines, running simultaneously, the one influencing the other. Yes, that would explain how I remember. And once we are away from the Lethe constellation, I will continue to remember. That may be useful." His gaze came back to Vila. "Why don't you come with us?"

Vila's face brightened. "You know I will."

"You said that too quickly, Vila. I could be lying. I could lead you up those stairs into the abyss that exists in your time."

"I don't care. Don't you see, Avon, I'm home."

"All right. But, Vila, you can never tell them what you know."

"I never would. Where are they, by the way?"

"Jenna and Gan are on the flight deck. I have been monitoring the teleport. Blake and Cally teleported down to a passing asteroid to harvest crystals for the weaponry system. I'm waiting to hear back from them." The communicator suddenly chimed. "And there they are. Last chance, Vila."

He gave a definite nod. "I'm staying. If you're right and you leave, I might never find you again."

Avon accepted this in silence and activated the controls. The teleport shimmered two figures into life.

Blake's gaze washed across Vila as he stepped forward. "About time you showed up," said he, before passing a small pouch over to Avon. "The crystals you needed. Let's get them replaced and get out of here. What's the status of the energy banks?"

"Seventy-three per cent," Avon replied. "It should be enough."

"That's what you said last time. Well, now we're all here, shall we go?"

"Not quite all here," said Cally slowly, looking at Vila with interest. "Where have you been, Vila?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Vila noticed Avon give him a warning glance. "Oh, you know," he said airily. "Here and there."

"More there than here," said Blake. He started up the steps before looking back. "Well? Haven't we wasted enough time? Vila, are you coming or not?"

Vila smiled. "Gladly."

xxxxxxx

Watching from a ship a long way distant, Jago and Gus saw a fleeting white light flare from where the derelict had been. A closer view revealed an abstracted mass of spinning parts. The old fool must have triggered something that caused the explosion, they reasoned. Little chance now of finding something worth salvaging. A fortune beyond the wildest dreams of avarice had slipped through their grasp. Well, they told themselves, there would be other days, other chances. Varis had paid for his incompetency with his life, the old fool. Served him right, they said.

When word got out about the final destruction of the remains of the great ship, the pirates and salvagers stayed away from the Lethe constellation. Strange things happened there, they said. Visions of the past and souls of the long dead. There were those that called to the living, encouraging them to stay. Others remained there, unaware and forever reliving a former life, with all that was gone before forgotten.

Nonsense, said others, nothing more than old pirates' tales to keep the curious away. Like those rumours of a great white ship, appearing out of nowhere to cause havoc on Federation worlds before vanishing without trace. Nonsense, they said. How could it be anything else?

**The End **


End file.
